


the prince's guard(s)

by midnightswordsdance



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe | Modern Royalty, Assassination Attempt(s), Bodyguard Romance, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamory, everyone loves channie and we love it, general insecurity, mild violence, slightly unrelated but Joshua's a hoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightswordsdance/pseuds/midnightswordsdance
Summary: “Ah, yes, the new guards.” Wonwoo turned his head, beckoning to the two men in identical uniforms standing near the entrance to the hallway, who came walking closer. It was a little jarring; since Seungcheol had known Chan since they were young children, there was less of a need to keep with such complicated uniform customs, other than in public broadcasts. Both of them bowed deeply. “This is Xu Minghao,” said Wonwoo, pointing, “and this is Chwe Hansol.”The first thing Chan thought was, these men are beautiful enough to be my mother’s concubines. The second one he thought was, you don’t look like Seungcheol.
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Lee Chan | Dino, Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Lee Chan | Dino/Xu Minghao | The8, Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Lee Chan | Dino/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 22
Kudos: 92
Collections: Seventeen Rare Pair Fest: 2 Rare 2 Pair





	the prince's guard(s)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SVTRarePairFest2](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVTRarePairFest2) collection. 



> Hello, everyone! This is my fic for Seventeen Rare Pair Rest. Thank you so much to the mods for making all of this possible, and for your weekly rare pair fic recs! Hope you enjoy.
> 
> MILD WARNING:
> 
> There is a relatively violent scene towards the end of the fic. Someone gets injured, and one person is killed, although none of this is done in particularly graphic detail. If you would like to skip this section, the section starts at ("Your Majesty." a voice came from...) and ends after the following divider.

It didn’t take long for the security team to replace Seungcheol. This time, it was two guards instead of one. 

The corridor was supposedly empty, save for Chan and Wonwoo, the security team’s head, but Chan had learned at least basic surveillance with his tutors. Enough that he could see two shadows, not even trying to look inconspicuous, around the corner. His new guards, he figured. Childishly, he hoped already that they were boring and stupid, just so that he could complain about them to Seungcheol. 

“I don’t understand,” said Chan to Wonwoo, wringing his hands. “Are you firing Seungcheol?”

Wonwoo gave a long sigh, one of those anticipatory sighs that signaled bad news. “Your Majesty,” he began, looking apologetic, “I’m afraid that Seungcheol will be out of commission for some time, and it’s unclear whether he’ll be able to return as your personal guard again. He sustained massive injuries to his left leg, and it’s a miracle he was able to keep the leg at all. I believe it is best, at least for the moment, to supply you with replacements as quickly as possible. Although your ban from leaving the palace has helped death threats drop considerably, we need a more permanent solution.”

 _This is my fault,_ Chan thought to himself. _If I hadn’t stopped to say hello to the child, or if I hadn’t stalled with the mother with the twisted foot, maybe—_

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head. Chan wished his distress wasn't so easy to see on his face. “The accident was neither your fault nor Seungcheol’s. If there is anyone to blame, it is the department for not detecting the assailant in the first place. I promise that we will do better in the future.”

“I do sincerely hope that you will, for my sake and for whatever guards you’ve decided to supply me with in the meantime." 

Still, it was hard to be optimistic about the new guards. Seungcheol was considered the best of the best—not just to Chan, but to the other members of the Court, and to the regular citizens who commonly saw Seungcheol nearby. As far as bodyguards went, Seungcheol was _popular._ Could he get used to having new people so quickly? Could the government? Could the people? 

“Ah, yes, the new guards.” Wonwoo turned his head, beckoning to the two men in identical uniforms standing near the entrance to the hallway, who came walking closer. It was a little jarring; since Seungcheol had known Chan since they were young children, there was less of a need to keep with such complicated uniform customs, other than in public broadcasts. Both of them bowed deeply once they got closer. “This is Xu Minghao,” said Wonwoo, pointing, “and this is Chwe Hansol.” 

The first thing Chan thought was, _these men are beautiful enough to be my mother’s concubines._ The second he thought was, _they are foreigners? Foreigners were the ones who wanted me dead, and now Wonwoo expects them to save my life?_

“It is nice to meet you both,” he decided to say, swallowing both thoughts down. He was the Crown Prince and powerful enough to say anything he wanted without getting reprimanding, but he was not a jerk. At least, he hoped so. The new guards bowed deeply again, both at perfect 90-degree angles. _A sign of good training,_ Chan noted. How long had it been since they immigrated to the kingdom? He still hadn’t heard their voices yet.

“If it’s alright, Xu and Chwe will accompany you to your next meeting,” said Wonwoo, looking at his phone. “Mr. Boo, your main scheduler, seems to value your punctuality and personally asked me to release you on time.” He gave a little pause before continuing. “Well, it may have been more than just _asking._ ” 

Chan fought the urge to snort. Typical Seungkwan, forcing the other heads of staff to conform to his wishes. He looked back at the guards, and then Wonwoo, who were both looking back at him expectantly. “Yes, that would be fine with me.”

He beckoned for the guards to join him as he nodded goodbye to Wonwoo and walked back down the hallway. He could hear the double footsteps of boots just behind him, and all he could think was, _you don’t sound like Seungcheol._

~

“I think Wonwoo has lost his mind,” Chan complained to Seungcheol after the meeting. He started to flop onto Seungcheol’s hospital bed but thought better of it upon seeing his leg, carefully held together by surgical glue and stitches and metal rods, and took a seat on a stool nearby, rocking back and forth.

He hated seeing Seungcheol as anything remotely near fragile, but _fragile_ was quite honestly the best way to describe him. Seungcheol’s face, even, was still covered in the cuts he’d gotten from the accident, marring the right side of his face with little bandages and gauze. In a normal accident, like if Seungcheol had bumped into a cabinet or tripped over a rock, maybe he’d make fun of Seungcheol, but after what happened, it didn’t feel funny anymore.

Seungcheol frowned, trying to readjust one of his pillows. “How so?”

“He’s replaced you, first of all,” said Chan, swinging his legs back and forth. 

At that, Seungcheol let out a little chuckle. “Well, I can’t exactly protect you too well from my bed and only one working leg.”

“I know, I know.” Chan sighed. “But my new guards, they’re _foreigners._ How does he know they won’t betray us? I was ambushed by foreign terrorists, and having foreign guards doesn’t make me feel any better. And they haven’t said a word. What if they don’t even speak Korean, and they’re just trying to get into Korea legally to cause harm?”

When he looked over, he saw Seungcheol frowning. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Seungcheol said mildly, placatingly. “You just sound kind of like an asshole, that’s all.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s to say they’re not loyal to you?” asked Seungcheol, folding his arms. “Maybe they’ve lived here all their lives and they’re Korean citizens, maybe not. But you only met them an hour ago, and you’re already judging their capabilities and their loyalty just from the way they look, or where you think they’re from. That’s kind of rude, isn’t it, assuming they’re not loyal just because they seem different from you?”

Chan paused for a second, swallowing back his rant, and thought about it. Had he been rude? Prejudiced? _Yes,_ he decided, a little reluctantly. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, hyung.”

“No harm in thinking about what you say a little, Channie,” Seungcheol said cheerfully (how was it possible for him to be so cheery while lying in a hospital bed?). “So, anyway. What do you think of them?”

“I don’t know,” said Chan. He tried to picture it in his mind, but it wouldn’t come up. “It’s just weird. I’ve known you since forever, but they don’t know me. And they’re quiet. Both of them. I don’t know what to say to them, and they don’t really say much to me.”

“Don’t worry so much about that. You’ll get to know them with time,” Seungcheol advised, sounding sage. With Seungcheol, just four years apart in age always seemed to be like twenty, from the way Seungcheol always tried to impart his knowledge and wisdom. “And don't worry about their competence. I chose them myself as soon as I woke up,” he added. “They’re from one of the best bodyguard academies in the country. They already have good chemistry, so it’s almost like they’re one whole person, but with twice the experience.”

Sure, it sounded great, but Chan still let out a groan. “I just wished I didn’t have to have so much time to get to know them,” he complained, a little pout forming.

They were quiet for a while, ruminating about what Chan had said. He could still practically hear the events of last month ringing in his ears. He could still see it all unfolding in the space between his body and Seungcheol, Seungcheol pulling him off the backseat of the Escalade and pushing his head down, the gunshots flying over his head, Seungcheol’s high-pitched screams of pain as the car was hit, crushing both of his legs, but especially his left. He could still remember thinking, _was this the end? Could sixteen years, from when Chan was five and Seungcheol was first pledged to him, be wiped away in the span of ten minutes?_

But Chan, against all odds, had been left practically unscathed, while Seungcheol was rushed to the hospital and put on life support. _It’s a miracle, your Majesty,_ one of the physicians had said after he was furiously checked for any sign of damage, even little cuts. Chan had thought about Seungcheol then, pallid, in pieces as the paramedics lifted his limp body out of the wreckage of the car, his body so deformed it was hard to tell where limbs started or ended, or if there were even limbs at all. _Not to me._

Seungcheol cleared his throat, bringing him back to reality. From the look on his face, he knew Seungcheol knew what he was thinking about. Sitting in a bed all day, he bet Seungcheol always did the same thing, reflecting about what he could have done differently, trying to figure out what about the drive back to the palace went wrong. Chan had always admired Seungcheol’s sense of perfectionism. “Look, Chan-ah,” said Seungcheol finally. “I might not come back for a while, you know that. I might not come back at all.”

“I know, I know.” Chan shook his head. “I just miss you, hyung.”

“I’m right here,” said Seungcheol, but they both knew what Chan had meant. 

~

Even though the initial observations Chan had given about Minghao and Hansol had only been from within less than an hour of meeting them, they held true for the rest of the week.

Every day not doing anything after the accident had made Chan feel unproductive and restless, which was only exacerbated by the guards standing by the palace gates, making sure he couldn’t leave to even go to the coffee shop three blocks away. Seungkwan had given him one look at him lounging pathetically in the library, waiting for Seungcheol to wake up after his millionth surgery, and had immediately taken half of his mother’s meetings and threw them onto his schedule, and the busy days hadn't let up ever since. At least the days of staying in the palace like a prisoner were kept busy, he supposed.

Looking at his new guards while the conferences dragged on and on, he began to notice other things. Minghao was quieter of the two, his long, lean frame unassuming in the corner of the room, but there was something about his eyes that was truly imposing, making the advisors and tutors Chan met with hour after hour making eye contact with him once and never again. Even when Chan had a meeting in the throne room with his father, the King of South Korea himself, his father had seemed on-edge in Minghao’s commanding presence.

Hansol, on the other hand, was broader, and unlike Minghao, the gazes of everyone else in the room seemed to naturally gravitate towards him, perhaps because he seemed quite the opposite of menacing, with his big eyes looking around curiously at the proceedings, regardless of how boring they were. 

In addition to their personalities, Chan’s views about their looks had stayed quite the same as well. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

After the meeting, Chan’s father had given a small, approving quirk of his lips at Hansol, and a sharp nod to Minghao. He liked them alright, Chan could tell, even from how little his father seemed to express emotion. A nice win for Wonwoo, he thought, mentally reminding himself to tell him if he ever saw him around the castle.

There were so many things Chan wanted to ask Minghao and Hansol, but not nearly enough time or courage to ask them. He’d never had to ask things about Seungcheol; they’d known each other for so long, asking something like “what do you do in your free time?” or “what is your family like back home?” seemed ridiculous. It would be easy for him to pretend like this situation was temporary, that Seungcheol was coming back any day now and Chan didn’t need to even think about speaking to his new bodyguards, but Seungcheol was right, as he always was. He wasn’t coming back for a while, if at all, and Chan needed to adapt.

So, one day, he tried.

Seungkwan, despite his merciless scheduling, did try to schedule in at least thirty minutes a day to eat. During his break, Chan usually went to the east gardens for lunch, where his mother had planted a whole field of peonies for good luck in honor of his eighth birthday. Normally, Minghao and Hansol sat a respectful ten or so feet away, with enough space to give him privacy but close enough to spring into action, but today, Chan waved them over before they started backing away.

“Have you eaten yet today?” he asked, gesturing for them to sit down, which they did, looking a bit confused.

“This morning, your Majesty,” Hansol replied.

“But not lunch?” Chan furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s almost four in the afternoon.”

“We have been by your side all day, your Highness,” said Minghao. “We have not had time to eat yet, but we will later, when the night guards begin their shift.”

Chan’s frown deepened even more. “But that’s not until nine this evening.”

And for the first time, Chan actually saw Hansol _smile_. It was so quick and so sudden, he felt a little taken aback by how kind it was. God, Hansol really was quite handsome. “Please do not worry, your Majesty,” said Hansol. “We are quite accustomed to this kind of routine. We appreciate your concern, however, sir.”

“No, no, that won’t do,” said Chan, his face still turned in a scowl. Was that how most bodyguards lived? Eating only out of the presence of their superiors? Seungcheol had always eaten his meals with him—he’d never stopped to think it could be any way else. 

He took some of the empty bowls on the tray the kitchens had provided him for the side dishes and filled them with the rice and meat still uneaten. He passed one to Hansol, and one to Minghao, who both looked quite shocked and not sure what to do.

“Your Highness,” Minghao began, “this is quite unnecessary—”

“It’s only unnecessary if I deem it so,” said Chan firmly. “Please eat. It makes me rather uncomfortable to be eating by myself.” When he saw them still hesitating, he waved his hand again at their bowls. “Please.”

And perhaps it was un-prince-like for someone as high status as he was to ask something like that of his bodyguards, who weren’t all that much higher than regular servants in the eyes of the palace worker hierarchy, but whatever his etiquette teacher might say about unprofessionalism, Hansol and Minghao gave each other a little look of _is he serious?_ , but started eating nonetheless. 

After that, things got easier. It became more of a habit for his guards to sit by him during lunch breaks (with their own food now, since Chan requested that the kitchens bring them their own trays), and they would talk. Or, rather, Chan would ask tons and tons of questions and pray he didn’t sound too intrusive. It was nice having someone to talk to, at least, even if the Seungcheol-shaped space at his side remained empty. He hoped Minghao and Hansol didn’t mind too much.

“Am I the first person you’ve ever been a bodyguard for?” he asked one day as they were walking to the gardens from the fitness center.

Both Minghao and Hansol shook their heads. “This is our...fourth, I believe,” said Minghao. “We have had a few assignments guarding lesser-known nobles, such as leaders of counties or towns.”

“So, this is not the first time you have bodyguarded together, then?”

“No, your Majesty,” replied Hansol. He gave a little smile to Minghao, who, to Chan’s surprise, actually smiled back. He didn’t even know that was a thing that Minghao could do. “We generally come as a two-in-one package. In school, we were best known for working together and balancing each other out, and so we try to be assigned to the same service as much as we can.”

“It’s admirable how dedicated you are to staying together,” said Chan. Before he could lose his nerve, he added, “and I hope that what you are known best for will be enough to guard me well.”

He expected for them to be at least a little taken aback by his blunt wording, but instead, Minghao squared his shoulders, looking Chan right in the eye and holding his gaze.

“We won’t let you down, Your Highness,” said Minghao, his voice steady and confident. It was hard to believe that just a few days ago, Chan was questioning Minghao and Hansol’s dedication and loyalty to their job, even though now, it was clear where their allegiances lay. “We will protect you with every resource we have, for as long as we must, that I can promise you.”

Chan could hear little voices in the back of his head. _Are you just going to forget about Seungcheol?_ one of them whispered. _How do you know you can really trust them? How do you know you can trust any guard to keep you safe?_ said another.

But Minghao’s eyes were so focused, and Hansol’s so kind, and it was hard not to believe them. “I look forward to it.”

~

A few weeks passed, and Chan continued to go to meetings, sit in on his father’s conferences, eat lunch with Minghao and Hansol, and visit Seungcheol in the evenings. Life settled into a regular routine, one different from before the accident, but still comforting in the way going through the motions tended to be.

 _Don’t be a bother,_ he tried to remind himself as much as he could. When he was negotiating the crown’s budget for the following year with his advisors, trying to fit in enough to improve the schools. When he was sitting with his tutor, reviewing how to sit and how to stand, how to speak so he sounded like an audiobook narrator. When he was with Seungcheol, trying to talk about his day without reminding Seungcheol and himself about what they couldn’t do together. _Remember what happened the last time you’d wanted a detour from the plan? You need to put others before yourself, for once in your damn life._

Meanwhile, Chan started becoming closer and closer to Minghao and Hansol. Even though they still spoke to him with formal speech, like the diplomats and advisors Chan had meetings with, they’d started getting more comfortable having conversations. They were almost friends, and Chan liked it that way. He threw himself into growing their relationship, and it was easy to not think about himself as much when he was so busy trying to make them smile and laugh and feel comfortable. Almost.

Almost, because some days, he would find himself staring at the pretty slope of Hansol’s nose during a brief period of silence, or the curl of Minghao’s eyelashes, too. The soft, melodic quality of Minghao’s voice, the swell of Hansol’s muscles under his bulletproof vest, the way Minghao’s hands looked fiddling with the various gadgets on his belt, the way Hansol had found a worm threatening to disturb their meal and had gently carried it to safety on the other side of the path instead of killing it, were all coming together into a supernova of feelings and overloading his heart, and he could feel himself falling, bit by bit.

 _Crushing on your bodyguards, what a predictable trope, and on two people at the same time, how scandalous,_ he thought to himself, trying to pull himself back to whatever topic they were discussing.

“How long have you lived in Korea?” he asked them one day in the gardens.

Minghao’s eyes flitted over to Hansol with a knowing look. Hansol smiled, with the kind of smile that suggested he’d been asked this before. “I have lived here my whole life, your Majesty,” he replied. “It may not seem that way because of my face, but I have never known anywhere else. My mother is from the United States, but I am and always have been Korean.”

“Oh!” Chan could feel his ears go a little red at the tips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything, I just assumed…”

Hansol’s face was kind, it always was. “Please don’t apologize, Your Majesty, there is no reason to,” he said, his voice a little mirthful. “You are not the first person to make that assumption, and likely not the last. I am not offended.”

Chan nodded, cheeks on fire. Was this what Seungcheol had been talking about with presumptions? Good Lord.

Thankfully, Minghao stepped in, allowing him the grace of not needing to repeat the question. “I have lived here since I was fourteen,” he said. “I moved here because I was offered a spot at a bodyguard academy.” He looked over at Hansol. “That’s where I met him.”

“Was it difficult, moving here?” asked Chan. “I’ve never...it was probably a big shift.”

Minghao ran a hand through his hair, looking contemplative. “It was difficult and easy,” he decided finally. “I was very frustrated at first, because I didn’t speak the language, and I didn’t understand the customs, but then I became close with people like Hansol and they helped me adjust. It is thanks to Hansol that I am here in the first place.”

“Don’t downplay your achievements like that,” reprimanded Chan. “It is commendable, leaving everything behind and changing your life like that.”

Minghao glanced at Chan, looking proud, but also a little flustered. “It could not be more difficult than being in your position, your Highness, I’m sure.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t have people I’m close with, Minghao?”

Minghao’s eyes widened comically when he realized what he’d implied. Chan swallowed down a laugh. “Not at all, your Highness,” Minghao backpedaled quickly, still eloquent as ever. “I just meant...there are few people in your position, while there were a lot of people like me. I have always wondered how leaders shoulder all of their responsibilities. From what I have seen so far, you seem to do it quite well.”

 _No, you’re not,_ a voice in Chan’s head whispered. _What about the hungry people you see when you walk through the streets? What about the advisors who all think you’re too young and inexperienced to be a good king? What about Seungcheol? Haven’t you failed them all?_

Chan just gave an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know, really,” he replied. “I just...I try to be the best I can be. For the people, but also for my family, to make them proud of me, I suppose. But I just try to remind myself as much as possible that I am only just as good as anyone else.”

Hansol looked intrigued, his eyes big and curious. “Is it really difficult, being a leader?”

Chan thought about it. It wasn’t really the long hours of debate and compromise amongst the nobles that was really tiring, he knew, but it was the expectations, trying to keep his image, trying to tamp down his urges. 

Still, it was hard to put it into words without getting uncomfortably intimate. Seungcheol may have known his views on his role as Prince, his ability to see through Chan honed to perfection from time, but whatever he was trying to start with Minghao and Hansol was still new.

“It can be,” he admitted, “but...not for the reasons that people might think.” Minghao and Hansol gave him matching quizzical looks. “The pressure is the hardest,” he decided after a moment. “People are always watching. And I guess it’s hard because there aren’t a lot of people in the world who have my job, so I don’t have as many people who can relate. And...I want to go outside. They haven’t let me out of here in a long time.”

Hansol gave a quiet, sympathetic noise. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t be,” Chan said quickly, shaking his head. “The work gripes of a Prince should not be worth your condolences.”

Hansol hummed, though it didn’t sound like he agreed. “You do not have to be of low status to have problems,” he mused, “and good people are good people, rich or poor. You are a good person, Your Majesty, and so you deserve people who will listen to your problems.”

 _I don’t feel like a good person,_ he thought. But something sparked in the bottom of Chan’s chest, something akin to hope. “Are you saying we are friends now?”

There was a moment of silence, where Chan just stared at Minghao and Hansol, waiting for a response. Had he stepped too far? Was he being unprofessional?

But after a few seconds, even though they were sitting, Minghao and Hansol were still able to bow, somehow in almost complete unison. “Of course, your Highness,” said Minghao, his dimples showing a little when he smiled, melting Chan’s heart in a way that should have been dangerous. “Whatever you desire.”

“Chan,” Chan butted in. “Just Chan. If we’re friends now, you have to call me Chan.”

Minghao and Hansol stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Really?” Hansol asked slowly. “Actually?”

“Why not?”

“It’s just…” Hansol made eye contact with Minghao, and Chan watched awkwardly as they had a full three-second telepathic conversation. “Your Majesty—”

“Chan.”

“Chan,” Hansol corrected himself, albeit seemingly reluctantly. “We will call you that if you wish. But...you are also the Crown Prince of South Korea. It feels disrespectful, in a way.”

This is what Seungcheol would have wanted, right? Seungcheol had wanted him to adapt. This was him adapting, not Chan throwing away all pretense of authority over two boys he’d only known for a few weeks. He shrugged. “Seungcheol-hyung always calls me Chan,” he said to Minghao and Hansol. “All of my friends call me Chan, really. Why shouldn’t you two?”

There was an obvious answer to that, he knew, and he knew Minghao and Hansol knew it, too. But Chan didn’t care about things like power imbalances. What was the point of being the Crown Prince, of having the power to buy whatever he wanted or control public policy, if he couldn’t ask for something like someone calling him by his name?

Still, he began to falter with every second Minghao and Hansol stared at him, shell-shocked. “I mean,” he said, growing shyer, “if it makes you uncomfortable to call me by my birth name, you don’t have to, of course. And if you are only calling yourself my friend because I told you to, you can say so, and I won’t hold it against you. I just...you seem like really interesting people, and if we’re going to be friends, I want it to be equal.”

Minghao and Hansol looked back at each other, still talking with their eyes. Finally, Mingaho turned back, nodding. “I understand,” said Minghao, tone careful. “It is an honor for us to be allowed to be close to you, to be your friends. We will call you Chan if that is what you want.” 

Inside, Chan let out a breath of relief. Maybe he was acting as much of an idiot as he’d thought. “Thank you,” he said, hoping his gratitude didn’t show too much. Maybe he was crazy. “I appreciate it.”

~

Chan’s stylists rushed around the prep room, covering his face with disgusting power and styling and restyling his hair so that no strand was out of place. As he adjusted his crown atop his head, he tried to imagine why everything felt so odd. After all, this hadn’t been the first time a new Crown Prince bodyguard had been introduced to the public. And it certainly wasn’t Chan’s first public appearance. 

It was probably because Seungcheol wasn’t there, he theorized, but he shook off the thought as soon as he felt it coming. He needed to face the future, like Seungcheol had told him.

Once he finished dressing, Chan found Hansol’s dressing room with relative ease. He knocked twice on the door. “Are you decent, Hansol?”

“Oh!” There was some shuffling on Hansol’s end, and then the door swung open, with Hansol offering a low bow. “Your Maj—Chan. I was not expecting your visit, my apologies.”

Next to where Chan was standing, the door opened, and out came Minghao, wearing matching clothes with Hansol. Minghao bowed upon seeing Chan as well, seeming a little confused. “Chan, what a pleasant surprise to see you.”

“There was no reason for you to expect it, it was unplanned,” replied Chan. “I just wanted to check in with you before the event. I hope you are prepared.”

Hansol turned to give a quick greeting nod to Minghao before turning back. “Thank you for thinking of us,” he said. With a confident smile, he added, “But yes, we are well prepared for the event. Security has been anticipating this meeting for about a week now, and although we were only added to your service recently, we—”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Chan interrupted, waving his hand. “I know about all of the security for the meeting, that is not my concern. “I just wanted to ensure you and Minghao were prepared for the publicity. There have been no major interactions with the public thus far, and so this will probably be your first exposure to the people. And...the people can be quite judgmental of those who interact with the royal family. In the tabloids and newspapers and all that.”

“Oh, right,” said Hansol, his smile dipping for just a second. “There is no need to worry. We will ensure that the main focus stays on you.”

Minghao looked amused. “You are quite different from other people we have guarded in the past, Chan.” he remarked.

Oh, no. Did Minghao actually hate talking to him? Were they just putting up with his questions because he was their boss? “I’m sorry,” said Chan, trying not to seem frantic. “If I’m bothering you, or interfering with your job or anything—”

Minghao let out a tiny giggle, and upon hearing it, Chan’s entire being almost melted into the floor. Good Lord above, that was cute. “That is not what I mean, not at all. Your generosity is refreshing, if not extremely kind.”

Oh. Chan’s face was burning, he could feel it. Was he this easy, being so enchanted by just a beautiful face and a compliment? “Thank you, Minghao,” he half-mumbled, half-stuttered. Channeling his composure, he straightened his spine and gestured for Minghao and Hansol to follow him. “They’ll be expecting us soon.”

The event itself, a ceremony to welcome the royal family from the United States, was not particularly taxing, and Chan’s only task was to stand next to the American prince, Prince Joshua, which was fine, since he and Joshua had known each other since they were children. 

Though, as Joshua’s name started popping up on Chan’s Twitter feed as they were waiting just off of the steps, he felt a sting of jealousy seeing Joshua walking on the street, free as a bird. Going outside now was out of the question for Chan, much less walking down the street, taking a car, or getting on a plane. The nonchalance of Joshua’s shoulders in the photos and videos was clear. Chan envied the idea of being casual without him or someone else being worried that Chan was going to get killed.

Outside the palace gates, Seoul was buzzing with activity; the tabloids always enjoyed seeing public diplomatic exchange, trying to catch small moments of hesitation or awkwardness between the royals and blow it up on a much larger scale. Chan could see the headlines already in his head, cringing at the thought of them: “Lee Chan Tense with Joshua Hong—Was There a Fight?” or “Are Lee Chan and Joshua Hong Together?—The Bodyguards Know the Truth!”

“Prince Chan!” Joshua greeted him as he mounted the steps towards the center of the stage. He opened his arms for a hug. “It is lovely to see you, as always.”

Chan gave him a grin, one that would certainly pick up on the cameras on the other side of the gates. “Likewise, Prince Joshua. It has been far too long since either of us have visited each other.”

They shook hands, rather stiffly for the camera; off-stage, they would probably go somewhere private to catch up about things not related to politics. Despite how much the Korean media liked to scorn Joshua’s family for being _gyopos_ , Koreans living in another country and even leading it, he and Chan had always been good friends, as far as long-distance meetups went. 

When Chan turned back from watching the crowd, he noticed Joshua eyeing Minghao and Hansol curiously, his head tilted. He gave himself a mental reminder to ask Joshua about it later.

He got his chance an hour later, photos taken and the luncheon reception in full swing. Chan was minding his own business when Joshua, holding a selection of hors d'oeuvres on his plate, walked towards where he was standing with Minghao and Hansol against the wall. 

“Would you mind if I speak to the Prince for just a moment?” Joshua asked once he got close enough. “It won’t be long, I promise.”

“Of course,” said Hansol, and the two of them backed up, seemingly disappearing into the crowd of people filling up the banquet hall, but their positions were still relatively easy to find afterwards; from across the room, Chan could see Hansol staring at him and Joshua with narrowed eyes, and Minghao at a table nearby, just out of earshot.

When Chan turned back to face Joshua, Joshua’s face was lit up in a mischievous grin, almost teasing. “Why are you making that face?” asked Chan.

“Your bodyguards,” said Joshua, elegantly dabbing his mouth with a napkin, “they’re quite handsome.”

That much was true, and Chan knew it far too well. Still, he didn’t know what Joshua meant by it. “Yes,” he conceded. “What is it that you’re making of it?”

“Nothing,” Joshua replied, feigning innocence, though Chan had met him and messaged on KakaoTalk enough times to know when he was playing games. “I’ve just known you to fancy a handsome man every now and then. Or two, it seems.”

That was...that was crazy. Right? Regardless, Joshua was much too observant for his own good. “Just because someone is handsome does not mean I fancy them in any such manner,” Chan shot back indignantly, his face turning red. “You are making foolish conjectures.”

“Sure, maybe they’re foolish ideas,” drawled Joshua. “But I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at them.” 

“Hyung, that’s ridiculous.” 

Joshua raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking up into a smile, like he could see straight through Chan and all of his bullshit. “So, no interest at all in participating in a scandalous polyamorous affair with your bodyguards?”

Maybe that idea shouldn’t have sounded as attractive as it did. “Not a chance, Prince Joshua. Unlike you, I enjoy following the rules and not running off with strippers in Vegas.”

“Don’t deflect,” said Joshua good-naturedly. “I’ve been having a marvelous time. You should try it sometime, not being boring.”

He looked the part, too. Chan remembered Joshua’s last visit, eight months before, and six months before Joshua was first caught gambling at a casino. There had been a boy hanging off his arm like an accessory, clothes awfully revealing, and that sparked quite a bit of chaos. Still, Joshua looked happier, his shoulders relaxed, his smile coming quicker. 

Chan rolled his eyes. “It’s not _my_ fault that Korea is so much more conservative than America. Can you imagine what would happen if I even stepped foot near a club? Or to a store by myself? Or even outside the palace grounds?”

“Maybe they’d be shocked at first, maybe even a little horrified, but then they’d get used to it,” said Joshua. “That’s what happened to me.” He paused, his face growing more serious. “I know it’s been difficult for you since the accident. It’s okay to let loose sometimes. You’d be human for doing it.”

 _I already feel like I’ve let loose_ , Chan thought. _If I’d stayed in line, so many things might have been different._ “I’m okay,” he said with a tired smile. “I think I’d go even crazier if I didn’t make myself stick to a schedule.”

Just then, he heard Joshua’s father call Joshua’s name. “I’ve got to go,” said Joshua, bowing, “but think about what you want. Pencil in a time in your stifling schedule to sit on a dick if that’s what will make you happiest. Look at me, it works.”

Once Joshua left to speak with his father, Minghao and Hansol moved back to circle closer to Chan. “You looked uncomfortable there, your Majesty,” Hansol noted, still staring at Joshua’s receding figure. “Are you alright?”

He thought about what Joshua said. _Think about what you want._ Did he know what he wanted? Looking at Minghao and Hansol, he was pretty sure he did, even though it scared him almost as much as seeing Seungcheol after the accident.

“I’m fine,” he replied, straightening his spine and turning towards where Joshua’s father was about to speak, Joshua at his right hand. “We should prepare for the speeches.”

~

“Cheollie-hyung,” whined Chan, entering Seungcheol’s room with much preamble, Minghao and Hansol waiting at the door outside, “I’m having a crisis.”

Seungcheol chuckled at that, setting aside his phone and eyeing Chan curiously. “Is this about your sexuality again? I thought we already went over that. It’s okay to like girls, or boys, or both, or anything that you want—”

“No,” Chan groaned, before pausing. “Well, yes. But also no.” He gave a long, drawn-out sigh, dragging over his usual chair and practically falling into it. He’d been so exhausted lately, even with his breaks spent reading and eating with Minghao and Hansol, that any soft surface, really, was game for a napping space. “I think I like them, hyung. I hate this.”

“Minghao and Hansol?” asked Seungcheol, not sounding surprised. In fact, he seemed a little amused.

“Yes,” said Chan, burying his face in the armrest of the chair. “I’m their boss, technically, isn’t this the most inappropriate thing I could possibly do?”

“I mean, you liked me once, too,” said Seungcheol, laughing harder when Chan picked his head up to shoot him a glare. He’d almost forgotten about that. “So, _technically,_ it would be tied for first.”

“That was when I was twelve, and it was for, like, a week,” said Chan petulantly. “That doesn’t even count. Besides, what would have been even more inappropriate would be if you liked me back and we dated. You were sixteen, that would have been gross as fuck.”

“The logistics don’t mean it didn’t happen,” said Seungcheol, gleeful. “But anyway. Tell me about your boys, then.”

 _Technically, they’re not_ my _boys,_ Chan thought to himself, though he wished they could be. “Don’t you already know them? You picked them to be your replacements.”

Seungcheol shrugged. “Sure, I know them a little. But we weren’t really friends, we were colleagues. I don’t know their favorite colors or their favorite books or what they’re like outside of work. Tell me about that.”

 _Kind,_ he could say. _Considerate. They say nice things about me and they talk to me and they make me feel like a person, not some painting or a statue in a town square._ Instead, he said, “Hansol-hyung has a little sister back home, and Minghao-hyung talks about the way his mother makes hóng shaō roù just the way he likes it. They share their books with me. They like to paint together on their off days and they want me to try it with them sometime. They ask about my day.” He glanced over at Seungcheol, who was peering owlishly at him over the bridge of his nose. “What?”

Seungcheol’s face was something just next to teasing. Sympathetic, maybe. “You really like them, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Chan’s voice was more of a sigh than actual words. “I just—they make me feel normal, being around them. Not that I’m not normal with you, but...it’s different. And I’m scared about how much I’m liking it.”

“Why are you scared?”

Chan narrowed his eyes. “You know why. I got close to you, I opened myself to you, and when _this_ happened, I got scared half to death. I don’t want to have to get scared anymore.”

Seungcheol didn’t look convinced. “So, you’re never going to make another close friend again because you don’t want to be emotionally involved if they get hurt?”

“I’m worried about making another close friend again who happens to be my _bodyguard_ ,” Chan clarified. “Your whole job was putting yourself in danger for me, but I also never wanted you to get hurt because you were my best friend. But those things can’t really coexist, can they?” 

Seungcheol shrugged. “Maybe not, or maybe they can,” said Seungcheol. He gestured to the space between himself and Chan. “We’re still friends, as far as I can tell. But why did you go through all of the trouble to become friends with them if you’re scared about being friends with them, much less fucking them or dating them or whatever you’re trying to do?”

“I don’t know,” moaned Chan, burying his face back into the chair. “That’s the problem!”

“So, do you want to get to know them, or not?”

“Yes.”

Even though his face was still muffled in the chair, he could sense Seungcheol’s state of resigned confusion from a mile away. “Channie,” said Seungcheol, in his kindest, most patronizing tone, “you do realize you’re not making any sense, right?” Chan didn’t reply, and Seungcheol sighed. “Chan, what do you want me to do about your problem?”

“I want you to tell me what to do,” said Chan, half-groaning. “Because I don’t think I’m going to stop losing my shit every time they touch me or give me compliments anytime soon. And I don’t want them to stop guarding me, because they’ve been good so far. And I want to be their friend. I want them to be my friends.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, or what’s going to be the best outcome for you,” said Seungcheol. “But it’s your life, and you’re the Crown Prince. You should be allowed to make the friends you want without being afraid. Shit happens to friends all the time, with death threats or without. People die, whether it’s from a terrorist attack or attempted assassination or not. If you really like them, you should go and get what you want, and not hold yourself back because of hypothetical scenarios.”

Chan could work with that. Maybe trusting them wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Thank you, hyung,” he said, looking him right in the eyes. The cuts on Seungcheol’s face had healed, leaving only pale scars, making it easier to look at him without remembering the origin of the injuries. “For protecting me back there. And for being such a good friend.”

Seungcheol stared right back, his eyes going tender. “Of course, Chan,” he replied, before his face grew into a smile. “Now go get yourself some bodyguard boyfriends.”

~

After talking to Seungcheol and getting encouragement, Chan started thinking about the next steps.

What were the next steps of courtship, really? As time had passed and the boundaries of kingdoms had solidified, with fewer countries trying to fight for land, arranged marriages were on the decline, and the ancient courtship rules no longer really applied, even for royals. Chan’s dating experience added up to a grand total of zero people, thanks to being forced to stay near the palace most of his life and getting homeschooled. And the idea of trying to court two people at once was even more intimidating, and had even fewer rules.

But what could possibly go wrong with asking two people to go out and spend time with him in a way that was absolutely platonic and had no ulterior or romantic motive?

“I have been thinking,” started Chan as they made their way to the gardens like usual. 

“Should that be something uncommon?” asked Minghao, a smirk on his lips.

“Oh, stop it,” Chan huffed, ears turning a bit red. “I have been thinking that I have not been outside of the palace gates in quite a while. And I was thinking that we should go into town sometime, just for a little bit. We could go shopping together or something, the three of us.”

At that, Hansol frowned. “But you are not allowed to leave the castle unless the security department deems it necessary.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “Are you not part of the security department? You guard the Crown Prince; clearing a shopping trip should certainly be within your jurisdiction.”

“Yes, but we do not think it is safe to go outside the palace grounds, especially with the recent assassination attempt,” said Minghao calmly, clearly trying to sound reasonable.

But it had been months since Chan had left the palace, and the idea of being reasonable had long since expired. International visits were rescheduled to occur in the palace. Politicians and outsourced advisors were required to come to the palace and meet in a secure area surrounded by dozens of guards. “I know, I know,” he said, sighing. “But it’s been so long since I’ve been outside. And there have been no signs of threats since the initial one, and you two have been trustworthy guards so far. Couldn’t we just—”

“Chan.” Hansol’s voice was gentle. “We would allow you to leave the palace if we thought it was safe, truly. But it is not, and we cannot risk you getting hurt. We will tell you when we think it is safe, but this is not the time.”

Theoretically, Chan could probably use his power as Crown Prince and force them to allow him to leave. There would be paperwork if he made it back in one piece, and a considerable lecture from his father, and pure hell from the public, but it could be done. 

Though, perhaps putting _abuse of power_ on his list of regrets and problems was not a good idea. But, it wasn’t illegal to wheedle.

“What if I told you exactly where I wanted to go, and we planned out a security plan beforehand?” asked Chan. “I could go into a store, with one of you by the door and the other right by me, and after I’m done, we could go right back to the palace. Why can’t I do that?”

Minghao and Hansol exchanged a thoughtful look. Chan envied their ability to communicate so wordlessly. Minghao turned back to Chan. “We’d have to speak with the chief, of course,” said Minghao, still sounding reluctant, “but we will think about it.”

“Really?” Chan’s face broke out into a smile. Maybe this was it. He could finally go outside to somewhere other than the gardens, or between palace buildings. “Thank you!”

Hansol ducked his head, shy. Minghao just smiled back at him, warm. “It’s nothing, Chan,” Hansol said sweetly. “If it will make you happy, we will try.”

After that, Hansol pulled out their usual book again and started reading aloud. They had taken to reading together on long days, where Chan was too tired to talk much and just wanted to relax. Minghao’s hand found its usual place on Chan’s shoulder, his thumb brushing the baby hairs on the back of his neck, and Chan tried not to shiver. If he could stay like this, in the middle between Hansol and Minghao forever, he thought, he could probably be content forever.

Three days later, after a particularly grueling lesson with his etiquette tutor, Hansol was outside the door waiting for him, food trays in hand, with good news.

“I spoke with Chief Jeon,” Hansol announced when they left the building. “About your request to leave the palace grounds.”

That made Chan perk up. “What did he say about it?”

“He agreed on the conditions that we fully disclose our locations at all times, and we have a very clear plan on where we are going so that security can scout out the area beforehand,” said Hansol. He smiled, then. “So, I suppose you are getting your wish after all.”

Chan leaned over and threw his arms around Hansol—he couldn’t help it. The force of the hug nearly knocked the tray out of Hansol’s hands, but he gave an embarrassed grin. Hansol’s shoulders were as strong as he’d imagined them, strong muscles filling out his arms.

“Thank you, hyung!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Thank you, too,” he added to Minghao. He started to hug Minghao, too, but then pulled his arms back. Hansol seemed like the hugging type, but was Minghao? 

Minghao raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I not get a hug as well?”

“Oh.” Chan could feel himself flush down to his neck. He carefully hugged Minghao, too. His body was different from Hansol’s—lean muscle, sharp angles. Chan looked up at Hansol, his head still on Minghao’s shoulder, he could feel the weight of Hansol’s eyes on him, not heated, but instead more curious. When Chan pulled away, he felt Minghao looking at him too, and he felt warm under all of the sudden attention.

“You know, Chan,” said Minghao, starting to walk down to the garden as if nothing had happened. Chan blinked, feeling like he was getting whiplash, but followed him anyway, Hansol staying in the back. “We’ve never lived in Seoul before. Perhaps...you might be inclined to show us your favorite places near the palace?”

“Of course I can!” Suddenly feeling cheerier than ever, Chan practically skipped towards their usual bench. Maybe he caught a glimpse of Minghao giving Hansol a mirthful look, but even if it hadn’t happened, Chan didn’t care. He was going outside! He could see the sidewalks! He might even see the snow start to fall on the main plaza! 

“There are a few coffee shops around the neighborhood,” said Chan, his words blurring together with glee. “And there’s a wonderful bookstore, too. I mean, it doesn’t have nearly as many books as the royal library, but there’s just a _vibe_ that you can’t get from here, you know? And there’s an art museum—I know you two love art—and so maybe you’d enjoy that—”

“Slow down a little,” said Hansol, looking infuriatingly calm.

“How could I be calm?” Chan plopped himself on the bench, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “You two get to at least leave the palace grounds at night after you’re finished guarding me. I haven’t been outside in months, can you believe that? I haven’t seen a single stoplight, or a traffic cone, or a couple breaking up in the middle of the street in _ages_. There’s this cat at the coffee shop that I named Pentagram because she always looks like she’s gonna summon a demon on me, and what if she’s already forgotten who I am? What if I go see her, and she’s found some other guy to inflict demons onto, and I was just her emo phase?”

He was interrupted by a soft giggle, one that he immediately recognized as Minghao’s. He looked up from where he was staring into space in his state of mania, and saw Minghao covering his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter. “What?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m just excited.”

“As you should be,” said Minghao through his giggles. “But I don’t believe you should equate yourself to a cat’s emo phase. That would be a terrible understatement. Besides, it’s only been a few months. The cat will be just fine, I’m sure.”

“You think so?” Chan gazed over at the east wall dreamily, thinking about finally breaking his routine, or doing something that wasn’t studying or reading documents. “I’ll really have to take you two there. It’s quiet, I bet you’d love it. Thank you, really, hyungs.”

Hansol gave a fond noise, almost like he was cooing at a small child. Normally, Chan hated to be patronized, but this just made him feel even shyer. “Like we said before,” said Hansol, “Whatever you desire.”

~

They planned for the trip outside to be a month later. Every single day of that month felt like it stretched for years, as the security team scrutinized every single street block in a ten block radius, down to whether Chan could get harmed by a single nail in the sidewalk. In Chan’s opinion, it was all very unnecessary, pretentious, and overall embarrassing. 

Chan made an agenda, or at least he tried to. What he really did was sit outside with Minghao and Hansol, a book open on Hansol’s lap, and he started trying to catalog places that reminded him of them. The art mural on the street around the corner, the clothing store tucked in between the office buildings, the restaurant a few blocks away. And the café with the cat, of course. He wrote up a list, scratched it out, rewrote it, scratched it out again.

“It’s just a list of stores,” said Seungcheol, watching him from his bed with bemusement. “Why are you overthinking it so much?”

“It’s not _just_ a list of stores,” said Chan. “I’m trying to impress them. Or let them know that I’ve been thinking about them.”

“You hang out with them every minute of every day. How could you not be thinking about them?”

“You know what I mean,” Chan grumbled. “They said they wanted me to show them around the neighborhood since they’re new to the city.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “Channie, they’re obviously just trying to hang out with you. They’ve lived in this city for a decent amount of time now. There’s no way they don’t know all of the places you’re going to take them.” He paused, looking like he was considering something. “Or, maybe they’re just faking their interest so that you don’t run away on their watch.”

“Stop making me worry even more, hyung!” complained Chan, wringing his hands. “This is very stressful, okay?”

Seungcheol obediently shut up, although his teasing grin was still so ever-present.

Now, bundled up in his coat and waiting for Minghao and Hansol to knock on his door, Chan felt even more ridiculous. He’d finally figured out where he wanted to go, and had sent the list to Wonwoo so that they could scope out the area. Looking at the list, the stores all seemed very _date-_ like. Was he being too obvious?

There was a light knock at his door, making him nearly jump out of his skin. “Come in!” he called, rushing to grab his phone and throw on a scarf.

It was Minghao and Hansol, dressed in bulkier bulletproof vests than usual and bigger guns, too. Chan raised his eyebrows. “You two look like you’re going into war, not to get coffee,” he said. “I feel a little underdressed, actually.”

Hansol looked at Chan’s outfit, scanning him up and down. Was Hansol checking him out? Oh, God, how the angels sing. “You look quite dashing,” Hansol replied. “I do not think any upgrades are required.”

“Thank you, Hansol,” Chan stuttered, walking forward and leading them out of the corridor, in front so they couldn’t see his blush. All of this was probably a terrible idea. If Chan couldn’t keep his shit together in the hallway of his private chambers, how was he going to deal with shopping with them _in public_?

As they approached the front gate, guards lined up both on the inside and outside, Chan was bouncing up and down like a child again. “This is the best day of my life,” he declared to Minghao and Hansol behind him. “Screw birthday parties, vacations, all of that. Going outside the palace is the real deal.”

All of the guards bowed to him as they reached the gate, and slowly, inch by inch, the guards began pulling back the doors of the gate. And just like that, Chan was outside and free.

For two hours, at least. Wonwoo had told him to be back at noon. But free regardless.

They went to the café first, since Chan had been sick of the palace coffee (which was great, since it was the royal palace for crying out loud, but it was too rich and too bitter and Chan was too afraid of his refreshments attendant to ask for a change). The old ahjumma who owned the café, Jieun’s, eyes went wide with surprise when Chan, Minghao, and Hansol walked through the door, eyes lighting up.

“Crown Prince, I was not expecting your visit at all this morning,” she greeted, bowing as well as she could with her terrible back. “It has been quite a long time.”

“It has,” Chan agreed, “but the place looks lovely as always, Jieun-ssi.”

Jieun scoffed, pretending to hit Chan’s shoulder, and he darted away, giggling. “You are quite the flatterer, Crown Prince, the same as you have always been.” She glanced behind Chan at Minghao and Hansol. “And who are these two fine gentlemen, Crown Prince?”

“Oh, yes, of course, I forgot to introduce you,” said Chan. “These are my bodyguards, Minghao and Hansol.”

“It is very nice to meet you both,” said Jieun. “I was going to say, Crown Prince, that I would be surprised if Choi Seungcheol was back in action so soon after the incident. Is he alright as well?”

“He is doing well,” replied Chan, “though it may be a while yet until he is fit to return. However, these two have provided excellent company in the meantime.” Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he could see Hansol go a little pink at the compliment. That was a good sign, right?

After that, they ordered their drinks (Chan made sure to make a mental note of Minghao and Hansol’s orders so he could request them back at the palace). Drinks in hand (coffee for Hansol, tea for Minghao, and hot chocolate for Chan), they made their way to the back of the café, which was rather empty, considering that it was well into the morning, where people were probably at work. Still, a few people recognized Chan and stood up, giving bows as he passed. Even though he’d never liked all of the formalities that civilians gave him, especially since he was so young, it felt good today. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen people in so long.

Pentagram, Jieun’s cat, was perched on the table in the back corner. Chan let out something almost like a squeal and leapt to pet him, jumping back with surprise when Pentagram hissed, trying to scratch him.

“This is Pentagram, the scary cat I was talking about,” he explained to Minghao and Hansol. “Normally he’s scary as all hell, but I think he misses me, so he’s playing nicer than usual.”

Minghao looked skeptical. “This is him playing nice?”

“Yes!” said Chan, cooing. “Look at him. He hasn’t even tried to jump on my head yet. I think he actually misses me!”

“See?” said Hansol. “Maybe you were not his “emo phase” after all.”

Chan rolled his eyes, but it was hard to stay petty for too long. “You can pet him if you want. I don’t even know if you two like cats, but he’s grouchy and just wants affection, so he’ll take whatever you give him.”

Hansol carefully set his coffee down and reached out. Chan waited for Pentagram to snap at Hansol, or hiss, but he was perfectly still as Hansol’s hand lowered, slowly petting the top of Pentagram’s head. Chan watched in utter disbelief as Pentagram _purred_ , like he was _happy._ Chan didn’t even know Pentagram knew how to be happy. 

“He’s cute!” Hansol exclaimed, grinning when Pentagram pushed his head back into Hansol’s hand, requesting more frequent scratches. What was this sorcery?

When Chan looked over at Minghao, he found him looking at Hansol, the set of his jaw a mix between amused and fond. “Hansol’s not much of a cat person,” said Minghao once he realized Chan was staring. His eyes were still on Hansol. “He’s scared of getting scratched. But your cat seems to like him a lot.”

“He’s not my cat,” Chan corrected, but his stomach was fluttering again. Hansol, the non-cat person, liked his favorite cat? The stars were fucking aligned today.

“And what about you? Do you like him?” he asked Minghao.

Minghao shrugged sheepishly. “He’s quite cute, I will admit,” he replied. “But you and Hansol are having fun with him. I’ll let you two have your fun.”

They played with Pentagram for a while, with Minghao sipping his tea on the side, bemused. Chan nearly forgot about his hot chocolate and was forced to drink it cold as they left the café, saying goodbye to Jieun on their way out, but that was okay. Chan at least had hot chocolate, and Hansol liked Pentagram, and they had a few more places he was allowed to visit before Chan was forced back into the palace again. Things were great.

The next stop was the tiny bookstore two blocks from the café, and Minghao’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw the entrance. Chan allowed himself to smile internally. He had known that Minghao would like this. 

Luckily, there was only the shopkeeper inside, whose eyes had widened comically with shock and he had nearly broken his back bowing, which saved the trouble of having to see other people in the store. “Do you want me to get you a book?” he asked Minghao, only being able to walk through the store in a single-file line from how narrow the store was. “Or a couple, if you find a few that you really enjoy.”

Minghao flushed, even as his eyes raked hungrily over the bookshelves stacked floor to ceiling. “There’s no need, Your High—Chan,” he said, stumbling over the honorific to correct himself. “The palace pays us quite enough for me not to require charity.”

“Nonsense,” replied Chan. He followed Minghao’s line of sight to a thick, dark blue book on the third or fourth shelf. Standing on his toes to reach (damn being short), he managed to take it down without bringing the entire shelf with him. “This isn’t charity. We’re friends and I want to give you a present. If you want the book, I want to get you the book.”

“It’s quite unnecessary,” Minghao started, trying to take the book from Chan’s hands, but Chan snatched it back, and began making his way back to the cash register. Minghao huffed in resignation, although there was gratitude and satisfaction in the lines around his mouth. That was cute, too, goddamnit. 

“Thank you, Chan,” Minghao conceded, taking the book with both hands and slipping it into the backpack he was wearing. 

Outside, Hansol was waiting, coffee still in hand, with an intrigued look on his face once Minghao and Chan exited the store, shoulders bumping. “What is it?” Minghao asked him as they started heading to their next destination. 

“Nothing,” said Hansol, the expression still there. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Tell Minghao what?” Chan asked, looking from Hansol to Minghao and back to Hansol again.

“It’s nothing urgent,” Hansol replied lightly, although his smile suggested he was harboring a secret. “There’s no need to worry about anything.”

Chan raised his eyebrows, even further confused as Minghao and Hansol shared a knowing look, but kept his head forward and looked around at the art murals on the walls they were walking past, trying not to feel jealous. Minghao and Hansol had known each other for years before they met Chan. There was no way that they didn’t have inside jokes or things they talked about without him there.

Their next stop was a mall a few streets away and closer to the main shopping district in Seoul, much larger and more modern than the other stores. Chan wasn’t much of a fashion person (as Seungkwan liked to tease whenever they met to discuss schedules), but he had seen Minghao and Hansol’s clothes on the rare occasions they crossed paths on their off days, and he had guessed that they liked fashion. 

“We should get you something,” Hansol remarked as they walked around the store together, where Minghao and Hansol were mostly leading Chan along. Theoretically, at least according to the ancient etiquette rules, that was probably disrespectful, but Chan was perfectly content; after all, Chan was completely out of his element and they were completely in theirs. 

Still, what would people think if they saw the Crown Prince’s _bodyguards_ buying him clothes? Would they begin to question the wealth of the royal family? _It seems the crown is out of gold_ , they’d say, and they’d look at him scornfully, like he had been a liar. “That is entirely unnecessary,” he replied, frowning. “I have plenty of money, there’s no need—”

“We don’t have to buy it for you if you don’t want to,” Hansol amended. He looked over at Minghao, and they shared another one of those _looks_. “We just...would like to style you? If that’s alright. I’m sure that you have stylists already that prepare you for your public appearances, but…” he trailed off and shrugged shyly. “We’re here, and we thought it might be fun for you, I suppose.”

“Oh.” That sounded a lot better. Exciting, even, and the idea of Minghao and Hansol’s attention completely on what he looked like sounded terribly appealing. He had been trying to focus on not taking up attention and space as much, but the offer was _right there_. “I’d like that,” he decided, flashing a big grin. 

And so, they started running around to the various corners of the store, looking at all of the different brands. At one point, Hansol held up two nearly-identical pairs of black jeans at him. “Which of these do you like better?” he asked.

“Is...is there a difference?”

Hansol seemed to begin to give him an exasperated look and quickly thought better of it, turning his face completely blank. “Nevermind,” he decided to say. He took a long look at the two pairs of jeans, and picked the second one, folding the other neatly and placing it back in its original pile.

Next was the shirt, and Minghao didn’t give him a choice on that one, just handing him a long-sleeve white shirt with a blue collar. “That shirt looks like I’m about to go to a country club,” said Chan, holding it up in front of him.

Minghao just shrugged, like it was just too complicated for Chan to understand. “Is the royal palace not just the most exclusive country club around?”

While Chan stood there like an idiot trying to wrap his head around that, Minghao just gave him a fond smile, and beckoned towards the fitting room. “Come on, Hansol and I have some other things we think you should try.”

The attendant standing near the fitting rooms nearly had a heart attack when she saw Chan approaching her. She quickly directed him to a room, face near-reverent. “I hope you’ll find everything enjoyable,” she squeaked, and Chan flashed her a grateful smile. 

There were definitely clothes that seemed to go together into various outfits, so Chan separated them out and started trying things on. Once he’d sorted out what he liked and what fit best, he put on the black jeans and the collared shirt they’d originally given him and unlocked the door, stepping outside.

Minghao and Hansol turned in unison, eyes checking out his outfit up and down. Chan shuffled his feet nervously, shy under all of the sudden attention. “How does it look?”

“Handsome,” said Hansol, and at the same time, Minghao said, “Hot.”

Chan made a tiny, aborted wheezing sound, blushing, before he snorted, forgetting polite etiquette for a second. “Hot? Oh, my God, I’m not... _hot_ . Or _handsome._ Or...I don’t know.”

“My deepest apologies if that was disrespectful,” Minghao said apologetically, face red, “but it is the truth.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, tension building. _What if Minghao kissed him, right here in the middle of the hallway, while Hansol was watching?_ He could be on board with that.

Still, that idea ended abruptly when Hansol cleared his throat. “It looks quite nice on you,” he remarked, eyes on Chan’s body again. “I’m happy that you chose the tighter jeans. They show how strong your thighs are.”

Chan was pretty sure he was going to melt into a puddle, jeans and all. Hansol...liked his thighs? What a day. What a moment. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice probably three octaves higher than it normally was. “And thank you both for your clothing suggestions.”

Hansol _had_ to have known what he was doing to Chan, he had to. His smile was bordering on a smirk, hip cocked a little to the side. “Of course, Chan.”

Chan refused to let them pay for the clothes they’d chosen for him, but the three of them were all smiling wide as they left the store, walking a few streets to their last stop of the day, a big mall with a bunch of different stores. Going there was probably a waste; there were plenty of servants and assistants who could get things for him, or he could buy them online himself, but seeing all of the people milling about was what was most exhilarating about the whole thing. 

“My favorite store here is the art store,” Chan explained to Minghao and Hansol as they boarded the crowded escalator descending into the basement. “They have all sorts of pens and markers and brushes, and I think you’ll like it.”

The basement floor was much more crowded than the first, with people all over the main floor. It became harder and harder to see Minghao and Hansol as they waded through people, especially as people stopped and bowed to Chan, making traffic even more chaotic. Still, all three of them managed to get into the store in one piece.

“I was hoping we could get supplies so we could paint sometime, like you said,” Chan said, leading them over to the aisle with all of the oil paints. “I don’t really know how to paint, but it would be really fun if you could teach me.”

Minghao and Hansol beamed at him. “Of course we can, if you want,” Minghao replied, dimples appearing. Chan was charmed out of his mind, his smile stretching all the way across his face as he reached up to pick paints off the shelf.

Suddenly, he checked his watch, and noticed it was almost noon. “Wonwoo said we have to be back in five minutes!” he said to Minghao and Hansol. “We’re going to be late.” He started running out of the store, back into the crowd. What if he didn’t make it back in time? He’d never get to do something like this for ages, he was sure.

“Wait!” Hansol called out, starting to follow him, even as Chan entered the crowd again, trying to get through as many people as possible.

Chan checked behind him to see if Minghao and Hansol were still there, but...no. They must have been swallowed up by the crowd. He continued walking and boarded the escalator again, hoping that they would catch up. Once he reached the exit, he stopped by the main doors and waited for them to catch up. But then—

~

“Your Majesty,” a voice came from just in the distance. “How lovely to finally see you out of doors.”

Chan’s head snapped up, and there he was—a tall, wiry man standing right in front of him, all in black, holding a semi-automatic rifle, aiming right at Chan. As soon as he and the rest of the people in the crowd saw the gun, people started to scream and started backing away. 

When had that man arrived? How had he gotten past Wonwoo’s security detail and all of the measures they’d set up?

“Who are you?” Chan asked, backing up slowly, following the others in the crowd. The man followed. “Why are you here?”

“Why?” the man sneered. “I’m making sure you, our Crown Prince here, pays his dues.”

“What sort of dues?” Chan asked, putting his hands up, trying to keep distance. He tried not to let his voice shake, even though he was sure his hands were.

The man must have noticed that Chan was deliberating, because his face twisted into a crooked smirk. “You don’t even understand the extent of what your policy changes have done, Prince?” he asked, his tone mocking. “Your father’s new laws have left me without a job, and my family without food to eat. You probably think you’re some hotshot, you think you’re doing _good_ for this country, but thousands of people are suffering under your family, and they’ll continue to do so after you take the crown.” He looked over at Chan again. “And personally, I think it’s about time we had a fresh start. Starting with you, and then maybe we’ll get around to your parents sometime.”

“This isn’t the answer, I can promise you that,” Chan butted in, almost stuttering over the word _promise._ “There is no need for violence.”

“Oh, really?” said the man incredulously, letting out a short laugh. “I’m sure that would look lovely for the cameras and all of our lovely onlookers, no? The Crown Prince, cowering like a fool, is brought to his lovely demise. What a headline.”

From here, he could see onlookers all around him, some of them screaming high-pitched, others awed at the sight of him, the Crown Prince, at all. Were they screaming from fear for their own lives? Were they afraid for him? Were they in support of the man standing before him? 

His mind drifted back to the accident, when he had been stuck in the backseat of the car, unable to move anything, say anything, or barely think anything, with Seungcheol unconscious next to him, waiting for someone to arrive. He had felt...so _helpless_. He was the Crown Prince of South Korea, the third most powerful person in the country, after his parents, and yet, there he had been, forced to wait until someone discovered the totaled car and called for help.

It felt exactly the same, except now, he was alone, and Minghao and Hansol, probably stuck trying to get up the escalator which was being blocked by all of the people in the audience, were too far away to help.

_This was all your fault. Why did you have to be such a bother? Why couldn’t you have just stayed with them? Why did you have to run off?_

But then, _finally, mercifully,_ the crowd parted just enough for Minghao and Hansol to slide through, who ran into the fray, with Minghao moving to stand in front of Chan and Hansol moving to get closer to the man with the gun.

“Drop the gun,” said Hansol, voice angrier than Chan had ever hurt it. “Drop the gun, or I’ll shoot.”

The man just shrugged, and from what Chan could see from behind Minghao, there was a loud gunshot, and the clatter of Hansol’s gun as he fell to the ground, holding...something, but he didn’t know what. Minghao raised his own gun and fired, and there was another shout, as the bullet grazed the side of the man’s shoulder. A warning shot, Chan recognized.

“If you even think about shooting the Prince,” Minghao hissed finally, his voice lower and deadlier than Chan had ever heard it, stalking closer. “I’ll shoot you right between the eyes before you can blink.” 

The man huffed in amusement. “You’re dedicated, I’ll give you that,” he drawled to Minghao. “It’s funny, really. You’re not from this country, are you? Why would you choose to swear your allegiance to this crown, of all places? Why would you pledge to _him?_ ”

“I pledged to the Prince because he is a natural leader, no matter what you might believe,” said Minghao, without a moment of hesitation. “No matter what he does, he does it with kindness for the people, and for the people he cares about. He takes on the burdens of others to ease their suffering, and when he makes a mistake, he fixes it as soon as he can and more.” Minghao’s gun clicked, like it was ready to fire. “And if what you say about what he has done to the people is true, I am sure that once you are detained or I kill you, he will wrong this right as well.”

All Chan could do was blink. Is that what Minghao, always quieter than Hansol in their conversations, thought about him? 

The man looked down at where Hansol was lying again. “Frankly, I would love to continue this standstill, but it seems that your...partner may require some assistance. I suggest you think of a solution.”

Minghao snorted. “And I suppose asking you to turn yourself in isn’t an option?”

“You’ve got a temper about you, bodyguard,” said the man, beginning to advance once again. Minghao backed up, Chan along with him, his gun still high. “I appreciate that. But it’s too bad, since I should start by killing you. A little harder for you to defend your Prince if I blow your brains out.” He raised the gun again.

But then, quick as a flash, there was the _bang!_ of another gunshot, coming from Chan’s side, and from what he could see, the man fell to the ground, a gunshot wound bleeding from the center of his head, a perfect shot. Minghao lowered his pistol, tucking it in its holster, and started towards Hansol, who was on the ground.

“Help!” Chan called out to the onlookers. He pointed to Hansol, who was still curled up in a heap on the ground, possibly unconscious. He couldn’t quite see Hansol’s injuries even with Minghao no longer blocking the way, but...did he see blood? Was Hansol going to bleed out right here, and it would be his fault?

He tried not to look at the man who had been holding the gun—the blood coming out of his head, the awkward way his limbs were splayed out. “He was shot—I don’t know how bad it is—but we need to get him to a hospital right away!” he yelled again. He started running towards Hansol, trying to see if he was awake, if he was okay, if he was...anything, but unexpectedly, Minghao grabbed him by the shoulders, hauling him back.

“Chan, stop it.” said Minghao, eerily calm. “We have it from here.”

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously as he fought against Minghao’s grip, but he held fast. “We need to see if he’s okay!” He looked to Minghao for appeal, but Minghao seemed to be in another world, eyes hard and somehow focused while unfocused at the same time, glittering.

“No,” Minghao refused. “It’s okay. He will be alright, I'm sure.”

“Why can’t I see him?”

Minghao just shook his head. “It’s...kind of messy. Just stand over there, and the ambulance will come soon. I called a car, so we can tail the ambulance to the hospital.”

The ambulance wailed outside only a few minutes later, and Minghao stood up from where he was kneeling. “Everyone, please make way,” he called to the other people watching, curt and professional, like a real bodyguard. The people immediately followed his order, stepping aside. Why didn’t the other people follow his lead like that? How did Minghao, a bodyguard, control those people like it was nothing, while Chan had people coming after him with guns and cars waiting to crash into him?

It was easy from there, with paramedics taking Hansol away, who was clearly unconscious or close to it, Minghao pulled Chan into the car without a word, and they took off, leaving the shell-shocked onlookers, who were still screaming, yelling his name, and taking pictures. Chan got into the backseat with Minghao, and flopped his head against the headrest, closing his eyes, feeling strangely numb, even though his heart was still going a million miles an hour.

Suddenly, he felt Minghao slowly unfurling his hand, and a hand slipping into his own. His hand was large, engulfing his, with rough calluses and warm palms. He looked up to see Minghao, his face looking like it had aged several years from just half an hour before, pale and grim. Still, Minghao gripped his hand tight, and Chan squeezed back, his heart doing a double flip.

“Will he be okay?” he asked Minghao. “Was it bad, what you saw?”

“I don’t know,” said Minghao, honest. His eyes peered out the window at the street that was starting to fade away, leaving the cameras behind. “He’ll be alright, I think. I hope he will.”

~

As they arrived at the entrance of the hospital, Chan noticed a small crowd already forming near the entrance. As soon as they started walking up the steps, journalists began getting closer.

“Crown Prince, do you remember anything about the attempted assassination?”

“Crown Prince, what was it like, standing there? Were you afraid?”

“Crown Prince, what will you do in the future to address the concerns your attempted assassin had about the state of this country?”

“Crown Prince—”

Finally, mercifully, Minghao butted in. “His Highness thanks you for your concern,” he declared sharply to the journalists following them, “but we simply must get inside. Unless you have the security clearance to come into the hospital, please step aside.”

The journalists looked to Chan for the order, but all he could do was give a tight nod and keep going. The crowd quickly stepped away and began to dissipate. 

He looked down at the steps as they continued climbing, every step feeling like lead. Minghao took his hand once they were out of sight of the journalists, just like he had at the scene. He squeezed it tightly, and Minghao squeezed back, just as firm.

Inside, Wonwoo was waiting for him, his face grim and his eyebrows pinched. “Crown Prince, a word?” he greeted as Chan and Minghao approached him. 

“Of course, Wonwoo,” replied Chan. Wonwoo turned and led them into an empty conference room on another hall. Even with the head of the security team with him, he couldn’t help but scan the hallway on the way there, trying to embody some of the things Seungcheol and Minghao and Hansol had always done. _Check your surroundings, watch your back. Know your escape routes._

“We’d like a moment to ourselves, if that’s alright,” said Wonwoo when they walked inside, looking at Minghao.

Minghao bit his lip, his eyes already saying no. “ I cannot even begin to stress how much of a bad idea that would be. Chief, you are not armed, and—”

“It will be alright,” said Wonwoo. “Security is all over the hallway. There’s no sign of danger.” His eyes softened, just for a second. “Go see Hansol. I’m sure you’re worried about him.”

Minghao hesitated. But finally, he gave a curt bow, and walked out of the empty conference room, his boots heavy and echoing on the sterile floor.

“I’m sorry, Wonwoo,” Chan said once Minghao was out of earshot. “I know, I shouldn’t have asked to leave the palace. You and the hyungs said it wasn’t safe, and I still wanted to leave anyway.”

“It was not your fault, Crown Prince,” Wonwoo interrupted, holding up a hand to shut him up. “Xu and Chwe should have secured the—”

“No, no, no, no,” said Chan, cutting him off. He knew he sounded like a child, hated that worst of all. He ran his hands through his hair. He could feel a lump forming in his throat, and tried to force it down. The only thing that could make him look like more of an idiot would be to cry in front of one of his advisors, a subordinate. His etiquette tutor would be horrified. “It wasn’t their fault, either. Please don’t blame them for this. They did all that they could, and still, Hansol is paying the price. I am more to blame than either of them.”

Wonwoo was quiet for a long moment, probably thinking of the nicest possible thing to say. Was this how everyone acted around him? Thinking Prince Chan was too weak to take criticism, that Prince Chan was too young to be responsible for anything?

“You know what?” said Chan, feeling so much more tired than he had been an hour ago. He needed to sit down. He needed to see Hansol. “I should go see him,” he said to Wonwoo, adjusting the crown on top of his head and giving him a nod. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”

Wonwoo let him go, though there was a concerned look in his eyes. Maybe he thought Chan was crazy. He felt a little crazy.

In what shape would Hansol be in when he got there? He didn’t know—Hansol’s injury had been shielded from his view as soon as it happened. Would he even be conscious? Would Minghao be angry? Would the doctors allow him to see Hansol, or would there be a crowd of doctors surrounding his bedside? Once Hansol woke up, would he never want to see Chan ever again?

He let out a deep breath, then another one. _Focus,_ he thought, trying to put one foot in front of the other. _Hansol first, personal crisis later._

The door was half-open when he got there, enough that Hansol might see how frantic Chan looked if he looked hard enough, so he slowed to a walk just before reaching the doorway. But once he got close enough to see Hansol more clearly, he skidded to a grinding halt, tucking himself out of sight. 

Minghao was sitting on the hospital bed, with Hansol’s head propped up against his chest. Hansol’s eyes were closed, but his breathing seemed even, the heart monitor in the corner beeping steadily, although his arm was in a sling. What really had Chan feeling like something ugly was rising in his throat was Minghao. 

Minghao’s fingers were running through his hair, his other hand supporting Hansol’s neck, as if he needed help sitting up. His eyes were closed, too, his cheek pressed against Hansol’s, like he could somehow take away Hansol’s pain through osmosis. It looked like one of those scenes Chan had read about in the old romance stories in the royal library, and he immediately felt like he was intruding. What the fuck was he even doing?

What had Minghao meant when they’d held hands before, then? Was that supposed to be Minghao’s offering of friendship?

“Is it bad?” Minghao said to Hansol suddenly, making him open his eyes. From the doorway, Chan watched with rapt attention. It didn’t even look like Minghao or Hansol even noticed him standing there at all, from the way they seemed to be in their own little world. He’d never heard Minghao’s voice, which was usually quiet and terribly neutral, this frantic, or this gentle.

“It’s fine,” Hansol was saying, lightly batting away Minghao’s attempt to fuss over him. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Solie…” 

And of course it was the nickname that got to Chan the most, not the skinship or the soft back-and-forth. _Solie_ signified attachment, familiarity. Familiarity Chan could never dream of possessing, standing on the other side of the museum glass. He bit his lip, but he didn’t move an inch. 

Hansol sighed, reluctantly unwrapping part of a bandage on his left arm just a little, wincing. That must have been where he’d been shot, though it was clean now, and stitched up. Chan drew in a sharp breath, in time with Minghao’s.

“It looks a lot worse than it feels,” Hansol said quickly, sounding a little panicked, but Minghao didn’t look convinced. Chan didn’t think he was convinced either. He covered up the bandage again, as quickly as he’d pulled it away.

“I didn’t see him before—I should’ve—” Minghao started, hands fidgeting, _reaching_ to pull him even closer, but Hansol cut him off. 

“It’s not your fault, baby,” said Hansol, shaking his head. Chan’s heart panged again at the nickname. Had this relationship been a new development, or was he just an idiot? His thoughts only served as a reminder that he was in the wrong place, but yet, he could not make himself move. His hand was clenched tightly around the doorframe, eyes watching more intently than he had in any of his diplomatic meetings. 

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” Minghao said to Hansol softly. “It worries me.”

“Then stop worrying. I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine.”

“How could I not worry?” asked Minghao, looking distressed. He looked...so much more vulnerable, less of a stone-faced bodyguard and more like a regular person. “You could have _died._ If the prince hadn’t…I... _we_ could’ve lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” Hansol argued back. “I’m right here. It wasn’t even a serious injury.”

“I know, I know,” said Minghao. He moved the hand in Hansol’s hair to his good shoulder, and from there, it was easier to see how much his fingers were shaking. “I know you can take care of yourself and I don’t need to baby you. But I...I just got really scared. I don’t like it when you’re in danger.”

“Oh, hyung,” said Hansol, stubbornness finally cracking. He craned his neck up and nuzzled the underside of Minghao’s chin, a terribly intimate thing. The tension throughout Minghao’s body seemed to loosen, his face opening up like a blooming flower despite the way he was nervously biting his lip. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It wasn’t you,” Minghao insisted. He laid his head gently on top of Hansol’s. “We just have to do better next time.” 

It wasn’t until then that Minghao looked up, eyes landing right at Chan, still peeking out of the doorway. “Oh!” he exclaimed. Chan saw him subtly try to get a few inches of space between him and Hansol, sitting back onto the chair that was pulled up next to the bed. It reminded him of all of the days he’d sat by Seungcheol’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up, and waiting to see if he’d ever be okay. 

And it hurt more than he wanted it to, seeing the way they were trying to hide what they were to each other. Had they not been as close with him as Chan had thought they were? “Chan. I’m sorry I didn’t see you waiting there.”

 _No, I’m sorry,_ he wanted to say. _I’m sorry that I had thought I had a place here. I’m sorry I hoped you and Hansol were looking for other people, when you clearly have each other._ “It’s perfectly alright,” he decided to say instead, schooling his face into something more diplomatic. Some things were meant to be kept to himself. 

He tiptoed slowly toward Hansol’s bed, which neither of them seemed to object to. He took a seat on the hard plastic chair against the wall. Sitting on the bed itself seemed like too far of a stretch. “Are you in pain?” Chan asked tentatively. “What did the doctors say?”

“I think there was a lot of superficial damage,” Hansol replied, though beside him, Minghao looked just as unconvinced as he had been before Chan had announced his presence. “I got some stitches for the gunshot wound, and I might have cracked a rib or two in the fall. I should be back to normal soon after some rest, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Despite Hansol’s optimistic tone of voice, all Chan could hear were the bad parts. _Stitches. Gunshot. Cracked ribs._ “I—” he said, his voice suddenly choked up, “I’m so _sorry_ , Hansol. This was all my fault.”

“Hey, hey, what are you talking about?” Hansol looked puzzled.

“You know what I mean,” said Chan. He came closer, wanting to sit on the bed next to Hansol but not sure how to ask for it or even if he deserved it. “I shouldn’t have asked to leave the castle. I shouldn’t have gotten separated from you too.” He pointed at Minghao while still looking at Hansol. “You both told me that it probably wasn’t safe, and I didn’t listen. I’m sorry for all of this.”

Minghao and Hansol didn’t say anything, just looking quizzically at Chan, like the notion of a noble, much less the Crown Prince _apologizing_ , or being on the verge of tears, was more unlikely than seeing snow in August. Chan tried not to squirm under their heavy gazes.

“Chan,” said Hansol, breaking the silence. “Your apology is accepted, of course. But if I may, no apology was needed in the first place.”

“Should I not be held accountable for my mistakes?”

“The problem here is the difference between being accountable for your mistakes and apologizing for mistakes that were never there in the first place,” Hansol said softly. “I believe you do the first one quite well. However, I think you could use some improvement on the second.”

Chan tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Owning your mistakes means apologizing, or thinking about what went wrong, no?” asked Hansol. “You have done that in abundance. In overabundance, in fact. At some point, it stops being healthy.”

“I know, I know.” Chan shut his eyes for a moment before reopening them. “I just...I thought you were going to die, when you got shot. And that guy was right, you know? I’m supposed to be this role model for everyone in Korea, but people just keep getting hurt because of me. I’m twenty-one fucking years old, I can’t keep making other people pick up after me. I’ve been trying to be magnanimous, and stop thinking about myself for once, and the one day I decide to be selfish and try to go off on my own… _this_ happens.” He was on the verge of crying now, he could feel it, the tears building up behind his eyes, the tremble in his lip. Oh, God.

“Chan.” Minghao’s voice was soft, akin to the way he had spoken to Hansol when Chan was watching in the doorway. “Channie, look at us.”

“No, I can’t, I can’t.” He turned away so Minghao and Hansol couldn’t see him. This had to be the epitome to self-centeredness, right? Crying in front of someone else while they were lying in a hospital bed?

And Minghao had called him Channie. He’d never called him that before. Did he even have the right to be called that nickname? To have Minghao’s affection like that?

“Chan,” said Hansol, and from what he could tell from his back turned, he was reaching out to him, as far as he could with his injury. “Talk to us. Let us help you.”

Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Chan turned back around. He hadn’t cried yet, but he still felt the tears on the very edge, and he was sure his entire face was red. 

“I like you,” he said finally. “Both of you. A lot. And I know, I know, I shouldn’t and it’s stupid and unprofessional and it’s dumb.” He sniffled, tilting his head up so his tears wouldn’t roll down his cheeks. “I was just really worried about you. More than I should probably be, maybe. I just really, really didn’t want to lose you.”

“Chan,” Minghao started, eyes wide as saucers. He stood up and reached out to him, looking like he was going to hold him like he was a fragile piece of glass and not a prince. Chan looked over to Hansol in confusion—what would he think about this? Was he disgusted?

It was so much clearer now that Chan knew that Minghao and Hansol were together; he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before. Just the way Hansol’s face softened like butter as soon as he looked at Minghao said it all. 

So he slowly stepped back, reaching up to wipe his eyes, moving towards the door. “I should go,” he said quietly. “I’m sure my advisors are trying to figure out what’s going on.”

Minghao’s hands slowly dropped back to his sides, and he swallowed hard. “I should come with you, then.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Chan, shaking his head and opening the door. “You should stay with Hansol-hyung. I won’t be that far away, it’s fine. I just need...I just need to think for a little while.”

Minghao and Hansol gave him matching worried looks as he bowed quickly and left the room.

~

There was a small bench around the corner from Hansol’s room. As he sat down, pulling out his phone, Chan was struck in the side of the head with a feeling of panic. What if someone was waiting for him in some shadowy corner with a gun or a knife? What if getting Chan to the hospital was just a ploy to attack him indoors, where it was easier to hide a body and then blend in with the rest of the crowd? He scanned the hallway nervously, the closed doors along the hallway, fixating on the window at the end of the hall. _Check your surroundings, watch your back. Know your escape routes._

Hands shaking a little, he called Seungcheol, knowing he wouldn’t be busy. Seungcheol would know what to do, right? No matter how stupid a decision Chan made, Seungcheol was always there.

“Chan!” Seungcheol’s voice was crackly from bad reception, but the concern was still there. “Are you hurt? I heard one of your bodyguards was hurt, are they okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Chan sniffled a bit. “Hansol-hyung was shot in the arm, but I think he’ll be alright.”

“Are you crying?” Seungcheol asked, sounding even more worried.

Chan sniffled again. “A little,” he mumbled. “I...I might have confessed to Minghao-hyung and Hansol-hyung.”

“What?” Seungcheol exclaimed. “How did it happen? Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” said Chan, biting at his lip. “I saw them before I went in, and they’re...they’re together, definitely. They were calling each other nicknames and all of that. And I shouldn’t have said anything, but I was upset because hyung was injured, and I was just trying to convey how scared I was, and it slipped out.” He paused, wiping at his nose. “It was really stupid, I know. I wasn’t trying to.”

“Oh,” sighed Seungcheol. “I’m sorry, Chan. What did they say after that?”

“They didn’t say anything,” replied Chan, rubbing at his eyes. “Minghao-hyung was trying to say something to me, maybe, but I, um, I kind of ran away and now I’m here.”

Seungcheol let out an amused noise, just shy of patronizing, but more disappointed, rather. “Oh, Channie.”

Chan huffed. “Don’t give me the _oh, Channie_ . I _know_ I fucked up, okay? I just want to know how I can fix it.”

“Chan, I can’t tell you how to fix it because I’m not there, and I’m not you,” advised Seungcheol. “Just _talk_ to them. Stop running away and keeping all of your feelings inside of you all the time. Tell them how you feel, for real, and then for God’s sakes, don’t leave before they respond. You’re the Crown Prince, and you’re a strong person. I’m sure you can take a rejection, okay, Channie?”

“Okay.” Chan drew out the word petulantly, dreading the moment that he would have to go back into the room. “You’re so wise now. How did you get so sagely and good at communication?”

He could practically hear the shrug on Seungcheol’s end of the line. “I’ve been reading a lot of self-health books lately,” he replied. “Got too much time on my hands and nothing to do. All of them have something about talking to people. Something that you’ve got a lot to work on, as far as I’ve heard.”

Chan fought the urge to snap something snarky back, pushing it down. “Thank you, hyung.”

~

Chan stayed out in the hallway for a few more minutes after he hung up with Seungcheol, in a slightly better mood than before. He pointedly ignored all of the missed calls and texts from his advisors, trying to figure out what was going on and see how they could repair his image and closed his eyes for a second.

What did Minghao and Hansol think of him? He was sure they were shocked at best, repulsed at worst. Or had they known it all along and chose not to say anything? Had he been obvious about his feelings before? He shifted around the things he wanted to say around in his head. There were so many things he had to apologize for, so many other things he needed to confess.

He sighed to himself, pocketing his phone and standing up again. Seungcheol had told him to talk to them. He was the fucking Crown Prince of Korea. He could have a conversation, and if it didn’t work out, maybe those years of etiquette lessons could help him mask his disappointment. 

Everything was fine. It would be fine.

Minghao was sitting down again by Hansol’s bedside when he walked in, their heads close together, speaking in hushed whispers. They both jumped like rabbits when Chan shut the door behind him, with Minghao scooting the chair back with a loud screech, snapping into a bow.

“It’s okay, you can sit next to each other,” said Chan with a feigned nonchalant shrug, moving towards the chair in the corner of the room, a respectful distance away. “You’re together, aren’t you? You don’t need to hide it.”

“Oh,” Minghao breathed, more air than voice, head already starting to shake. “Chan, we...”

“It’s okay,” Chan insisted. “I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything. I don’t mind.” His fingers started to tremble, giving away the lie, so he folded them into his lap.

Hansol swallowed, hesitating, but he slowly nodded. “Yes, we are,” he admitted. “We’re sorry that we didn’t tell you before, but—”

Chan shook his head. “You didn’t have any obligation to tell me. There’s no need to apologize,” he replied. He took a long inhale, exhaling like he always did before making speeches or entering important meetings. “Actually, I wanted to apologize. For having that...meltdown. We came here to see how you were doing, and then I made it all about me, and then I made some...inappropriate comments. It wasn’t right and I just want to say sorry.” He punctuated his statement with a bow of his head. “We don’t have to dwell much on this anymore. I just want to make sure you recover well and are able to retain the use of your arm.”

“My arm will be fine,” said Hansol, looking down at his sling. “Please do not worry about that. And I understand that today was emotional for all of us. Please do not blame yourself for that.” He glanced over at Minghao, having another of those wordless conversations, eyebrows raising and everything. Chan peered at them anxiously, waiting for one of them to speak.

Minghao was the one to break the silence. “Actually, Chan,” he began, hands folded identical to Chan’s, “there was one thing that we wanted to discuss with you, if that’s alright.”

Chan nodded. “Sure, what is it?”

“It’s about what you, um, said before you left earlier,” Hansol continued. Now he looked uneasy, too, face twitching the slightest bit. “Your...confession.”

Chan stiffened. He was hoping they could just gloss over that bit and they wouldn’t talk about it anymore, but apparently that wasn’t in the cards for him, much to his dismay. “What about it?” he asked reluctantly, elbows drawing in further towards his sides, like curling up might shield him from their inevitable rejection.

What could they possibly say? He’d read about in books, seen it in dramas, but he’d never even come close tot experiencing the real thing. Would they say the standard _I’m sorry, but we just don’t like you like that?_ Or the, _I’m sorry, we’re not interested in a threesome, normal people don’t do that sort of stuff?_

“We…” Minghao took a deep breath. “We like you too.”

Well, he was definitely not expecting that. “W-what?”

“We like you too,” Hansol repeated, reaching forward as much as his injured arm could allow. “And we don’t really know what that means for what a relationship would look like, but we’d like to at least try.” His face was hopeful, a tentative smile on his face, mirroring Minghao’s.

“What?” Chan asked again. “This isn’t a joke? Or you’re not just saying this because I’m the prince and you think you have to do whatever I want you to?”

“No, not at all,” Minghao replied firmly. His face broke out into something a little lighter and joking, almost...flirty? “We meant it when we said you look hot in that outfit we made you, you know.”

Chan’s face immediately went scarlet, and he slapped his hand over his mouth to prevent himeslf from letting out an embarrassing noise. “Oh, my God,” he muttered, which made Minghao giggle.

“Too much?” Minghao asked, eyebrows turned up in a genuine question. “We can go slow. We can do whatever you would like, really.”

Chan shook his head so hard, he was a little worried his head would fall off his shoulders. “No, it’s not too much,” he said. “But I’ve never dated anyone before. I don’t really know how all of this works.”

“It’s okay,” said Hansol, like it’s so easy. “We’ve never done anything with three before, either. We can try things out, see what works?”

“And Hansol’s going to be in the hospital for a little while longer, so there’s plenty of time to talk about things if you’re not busy,” Minghao supplied helpfully.

Chan nodded vigorously. “Wow,” he said, in wonder. His eyes were so wide open, he wondered if there were actual stars in them. “I can’t believe this is real. I thought it was just me, and I was being crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” said Minghao, his voice washing over him like a blanket, reassuring. “ _Please._ We were so obvious, even from the beginning. Well, Hansol was, anyway.”

“Hey,” Hansol complained from the bed. He pitched his voice up higher and more nasally in a poor impression of Minghao. “Oh, your Highness, you’re so different from all of the people we’ve guarded before. Oh, your Highness, thank you for getting me that book, you’re so kind and generous and lovely.” He yelped when Minghao smacked him in the uninjured arm, dodging the next blow, Chan giggling in the background. “Not that you’re not any of those other nice things,” he added sweetly, “but hyung’s terrible at hiding, even though he thinks he’s not.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Minghao, although his smile kind of ruined the way he was trying to look miffed. 

“Thank you for all of this,” said Chan. “For protecting me. And for liking me back, I guess.”

“There’s no need to thank us,” said Hansol, eyes crinkling. “You’re the amazing one, after all. You’re so sweet and adorable.”

 _Whoa._ Chan’s entire soul was aflame like the Phlegethon. This was going to be a wild ride, and Chan was ready for every minute of it.

~

Still, it was less than ideal that Chan had to go back to work only a few days after the incident. He had Hansol moved from the hospital to one of the palace’s medical rooms to recover, which made him a little closer, but there was still an odd empty space on his left side, with Minghao only doing so much to remedy it. It was a little funny, considering how he’d thought he’d only have that feeling with Seungcheol for a little while, but here it was, back again at full force. 

“Is it weird not having hyung here with you?” he asked Minghao one day on the way back to his normal office after a tense meeting with his father, a week or so after the incident. He knew his father was just worried about him after what had happened, but it was pretty clear that his father thought his wishes to leave the palace were pretty stupid.

Minghao nodded. “We haven’t done solo jobs in a really long time,” he replied. “It’s a little unfamiliar.”

Chan nodded in acknowledgment, sitting back down at his desk with Minghao across from him. “I hope I’m not adding to that stress. I know I’m probably quite a handful still.”

“No, of course not,” Minghao insisted. “You’re still such wonderful company as always, with Hansol or without.”

He had started alternating his days between visiting Hansol and Seungcheol, who was finally starting to regain walking capabilities again, in the palace’s hospital wing. 

“Maybe by the time you marry your boyfriends, I’ll be able to walk to see it,” said Seungcheol, a bead of sweat dripping down his face just from the effort to get into an upright position while standing. 

“Oh please,” said Chan, a hand tentatively on his back to steady him. “Don’t be that pessimistic. You’d better be there, standing and walking and all of that, to guard my ass if it ever happens.”

Meanwhile, his visits with Minghao and Hansol were the same as they’d always been, if not a little more fun. Hansol was almost ready to start training and guarding again, with the stitches almost dissolved, but his arm was still in a sling for now. Still, Chan had taken over for reading aloud, since Hansol couldn’t really flip the pages. This, of course, just gave Minghao and Hansol even more opportunities to tease and flirt with him.

“Your reading voice is so nice,” said Minghao one time. “It’s quite soothing.”

Chan stopped reading, placing the bookmark into the book and closing it. It was clear they weren’t really interested in reading tonight, not from the sidelong glances they kept giving him as he read. “Really?” he asked, shy.

“Yeah,” said Minghao, the teasing smile still not letting up. “It’s probably the etiquette training you always complain about. It seems awful, but you sound so nice.” Chan beamed, not sure what to do with his hands but pleased regardless.

“You know,” Hansol said suddenly, butting in. “You two should kiss.”

Chan’s head whipped over to Hansol, and then to Minghao. “What? Really?”

“I mean, only if you would like to, and you’re ready, of course,” Hansol clarified. “But...I think it would be interesting to see. Or you could kiss me, if that strikes your fancy.”

“What about both?”

“That too,” Minghao chimed in.

Chan took a deep breath and nodded, crossing over to where Minghao was sitting. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he said, looking down at Minghao shyly.

“That’s okay,” said Minghao, reaching up and gently taking Chan’s face in his two gigantic hands. “Just follow me.”

And then, slow as it could possibly be, Minghao tilted his head up and laid one on him.

Chan could swear sparks lit up behind his eyelids with the press of Minghao’s mouth, warm and a little chapped from the cold winter air outside. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but Chan’s head was spinning when Minghao pulled away, blinking rapidly. “Whoa.”

Minghao giggled, leaning back into Hansol, whose eyes were fixed darkly on Chan’s face. “You look pretty together,” Hansol remarked, reaching a hand up to beckon Chan closer, too. “Could I have one as well?”

“Of course,” Chan agreed almost instantaneously, walking over, tilting his head down, and kissing Hansol as well, chaste and quick. His mouth tasted different from Minghao’s—more earthy and herbal as opposed to Minghao’s mint. Hansol reached out to Minghao to connect their lips, closing the three-point circle.

“Was that nice?” Minghao asked him when they pulled apart, both of their cheeks just a tinge redder. “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” said Chan. “We should do that more often.”

“Sure,” Hansol said easily, face curling like he was telling an inside joke. “Whatever you desire.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


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